


Uncommon Fairy Tales

by snowbellewells



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 17:14:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17922992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowbellewells/pseuds/snowbellewells
Summary: Emma returns from a day of work at the station to find her pirate husband and her little ones have been reading a surprise for her return.    (Canon Divergent post-s6, very fluffy, but hopefully enjoyable too!)





	Uncommon Fairy Tales

**Author's Note:**

> Okay,so a while back I posted “pillowfort with CS baby” as one of my WIPs for a tag game response, and I started work on it with the hopes of posting it as a fluffy Valentine’s one shot. Unfortunately, I did not get it accomplished in time for the holiday. However, I liked it too much to scrap it, or wait for another year to post. Instead, with a bit of editing, I offer it to you now as a bit of general fun Friday fluff in a canon divergent near-future post-s6. I mainly say divergent because Henry is off at college rather than traveling the realms, and I have included my own headcanon CS children: Morgan Ruth Jones and Westley Graham Jones. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy -- and I’d love to hear your thoughts! :)

Giggles, snorts and snickers, along with the quickly following sounds of scuffling child limbs and whisper-hissed shushing greet Emma Swan as she returns to her family’s home by the harbor on the outskirts of Storybrooke, tired from her shift at the sheriff’s station and ready to collapse on the couch and put her feet up. However, despite her weariness and aching bones, a smile curls across her lips as she hangs her coat on the hall tree and heads toward the living room. She has already toed off her bots quietly as well, kicking them haphazardly to land on the mat somewhere near her husband’s, and is tiptoeing in her socks toward the sounds that continue to carry on the quiet evening air, hoping to catch her little pirates at whatever they are up to before they realize her presence.

Once Emma reaches the entryway, she peers around the wall, only to draw in a quick, surprised breath just as her eyes widen at the construction before her. Sometime between her leaving for work at 10 a.m. and now, in the suppertime twilight, her family’s living room has become the site of some sort of fairy glen, complete with twinkle lights, gauzy curtains, and a pink and purple blanket stronghold taking pride of place in the very center of the floor. Clearly, her clever (though endlessly spoiling) husband has been at work to help their two younger children create this; in fact, Emma thinks she can hear his deep sonorous chuckle rumble from within the blankets festooned over the backs of two kitchen chairs to the recliner, coffee table, and couch at their other corners right along with Westley’s little yips of excitement and Morgan’s protests of “Quiet! Mama will be home any minute!”

Emma has to press her fist to her mouth not to laugh aloud at them already, their chance at surprise long past even if they don’t know it yet. She draws back a bit further, not wanting to be seen and spoil whatever fun they have concocted. Even as she does so, she hears Killian’s gentle admonishment, warming her heart once again with his infinite patience for his little ones and the depthless well of love in his heart that had clearly lain waiting for centuries, merely needing to be tapped and set free. “Easy there, my Lass. He’s little yet, and anxious to unveil your surprise. Try to have patience. You know after all, that Mama will love it, surprise or not, aye?”

There is a weighted moment and a bit of shuffling and dissatisfied grumbling, but Emma’s heart nearly melts its last little bit when their six-year-old, Morgan Ruth Jones, indomitable, one-of-a-kind, and vibrant to a fault, bright-eyed and opinionated in all things, answers at last, “Aye, Papa, I know.” It went without stating outright, just from her weary tone of voice that she would still rather manage their unveiling as planned. Even with their reward on the horizon, Emma can only imagine that their wild pirate queen, as unruly as the dark curls that cascade down her back and as mischievous as her twinkling green eyes suggest, is finding the extended period of required stealth and patience quite a stretch as well. She can almost see Killian smoothing Morgan’s hair off her forehead in a calming gesture, even as she hears his deep murmur of “Just a bit longer, she should be here any moment now…”

“Aye, aye, Captain!” pipes up Westley enthusiastically, their three-year-old as sandy blonde, strapping, and fearless as his grandpa Charming, and no doubt pressed so close to his sister’s side in his excitement that he is quite probably sitting right on her lap, looking up at her with blatant admiration and practically wriggling with glee. Their baby is the only one of her three child to inherit her lighter complexion, hair color, and pale freckles, and Emma can only imagine how flushed his cheeks must be as hyper as he sounds at present.

Emma is startled in the next instant when Killian’s own dark head of tousled hair peeks up out of their blanket construction to capture her unerringly in his gaze and wink at her saucily. She should have known he would be aware of her presence; how had she thought she’d snuck up on a pirate? Crystalline blue eyes still glittering with affection and mischief, Killian nods to her once, as if urging her on, and then ducks back down into their hiding place, clearly hoping to keep up the illusion of going undetected for their children.

Smirking to herself and shaking her head at their antics, not to mention how she will do almost anything to accommodate them, Emma proceeds to sneak back into the hall and make an entrance they can’t miss hearing. She opens the front door again to close it just a bit louder than necessary, going through the motions she would take if she really did need to take off and hang up her coat and kick off her boots in the entryway. Finally, biting back the grin that threatens to stretch all the way across her face, she moves toward the living room where she knows her little family is hiding, calling out innocently, “Guys, I’m home! Hello? Where is everybody?”

Just as she reaches the archway from the foyer - for the second time, though unbeknownst to her two youngest - there is a squeal of glee and rustling that nearly upsets the whole blanket fortress for a moment, and then the blanket draped over the top flings back, and her husband with his two little pirates in training all leap out with a call of “Surprise!”

Emma allows herself to jump in exaggerated shock, emitting an audible gasp and letting her mouth drop open and eyes widen to what she hopes is a convincing extent. Both Morgan and Westley chortle with mirth and hop up and down, clearly proud of themselves and their success in startling their mother. Emma’s chest swells at their happiness, celebrating within herself one more small moment in which she knows with certainty that she and Killian’s babies are getting the life both she and her husband had always wished for - the simple pleasures, the fun and unconditional love both had ached to experience, and deserved to have. If she accomplishes nothing else for the rest of her days - and she knows Killian agrees with her in this - Emma is so proud and thankful that Morgan and Westley don’t have to grow up the way she and Killian did.

The smile that has been trying to break free wins and spreads across her face unabashedly, practically beaming even as she blinks back sentimental tears at the three people she loves most (besides Henry, now off at college but still very much home in her heart) in the entire world. “Wow,” she finally sputters, overcome more by contented fulfillment and love than genuine astonishment, though the distinction thankfully doesn’t seem to be apparent to a three and six-year-old. “What’s all this for?”

“For you, Mama!” Westley bursts out in excitement, hopping from one foot to the other before holding out his arms to be picked up by his mother. “To ‘prise you!”

“Yup,” Morgan adds succinctly, nodding in solemn agreement, “Papa says that letting people know you love them, especially for no particular holiday and when they least expect it, is a gift that can’t be replaced by any treasure.” Their feisty buccaneer recites these words sagely, pleased with her repetition and completely assured in her belief that all her beloved papa says is true.

Emma smirks, reaching out to ruffle Morgan’s dark ringlets where they stream over her shoulders while cuddling Wes closer to her chest. Her eyes lift to meet Killian’s with a challenging arched brow as she asks, “Is that so?”

 

“Certainly, Milady,” Killian murmurs, his voice husky and low with emotion as he bows slightly over her hand, taking it in his own and kissing the back of it, which makes Morgan squeal and Westley groan, burying his face in Emma’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t you agree?” His own eyebrow quirks upward deliberately as he gazes back at her with a smouldering stare that sends her temperature skyrocketing several degrees higher in seconds. She watches, speechless, as her husband runs the tip of his tongue over his lower lip salaciously, a low hum in the back of his throat caressing her ears as rich velvet would her skin, and Emma knows her cheeks must be flushed red as ripe tomatoes, not to mention her neck and chest. It’s an embarrassingly obvious tell that her husband never misses.

Emma isn’t sure what might be about to happen, until there is an insistent tugging on her hand that breaks the laden moment. “Hey, hey, stop kissing!” Morgan orders, not even slightly inhibited in letting her parents know they have gotten off track. She was born to be a captain Killian has stated more than once to Emma in an awed tone, shaking his head and his blue eyes far away, holding that look in them he only gets when he is remembering his older brother, seeing in his mind’s eye the sibling who was his captain, his role model, his father figure and his hero, all rolled into one person.

At any rate, there is no denying their determined daughter, especially not when Westley removes his face from her shoulder, tilting it up to look into her eyes as he adds, “Yeah Mama! You haven’t even seen your ‘prise yet!”

Emma smiles lovingly at her little boy, offering Killian a look over his blonde head that she hopes conveys just how much she wants them to continue later from where they have been interrupted. His full lips tilt upwards in a knowing, returned grin, and her heart soars. He always understands her.

“Alright, alright already, you two scurvy knaves!” Killian calls out in his fiercest Captain’s voice. “We’ve caught ourselves a Princess, mates! Let’s show her to her new quarters, shall we?”

Emma laughs wholeheartedly at their continued game of make believe, even as Westley and Morgan both yell in delighted agreement and each take one of her hands to pull her toward their fortress. Once she has knelt down closer to their height and then followed their prompting to crawl in under the festooned blankets after them, she genuinely does draw in a breath of pleasant surprise. The three of them have been busy while she was away, as beneath the blanket roof several plump pillows gathered from all over their house have been scattered as comfortable seats, there is a lamp in one corner and an open book where Killian has clearly been reading to them, and there are three lidded travel cups with bendy straws and a platter of fresh grapes and apple slices along with several shortbread cookies obviously waiting for her to join them.

It is hard telling how Killian has kept their sticky-fingered bandits out of the goodies thus far, but Emma is not at all surprised that they have been listening to him reading. In truth, Killian’s read alouds are one of both their children’s favorite things, and for good reason. Between his beguiling accent, dramatic reading style, and his ability to choose all the best stories, Emma herself can hardly look away once he begins to spin a yarn.

Without realizing she has done so, Emma has stopped in the makeshift entry on her hands and knees, taking it all in. Morgan and Westley have scampered in before her and are each waiting impatiently on their chosen pillow seats, but it isn’t until she feels a lightly playful swat on her jean clad rump that she remembers Killian is still behind her, waiting to follow her in.

With a gasp, feeling her flesh heat, Emma scuttles forward, biting her lower lip and already contemplating how she’ll make her husband pay for that deliciously later. She hears his warm chuckle as he crawls into their haven behind her, even as she senses his presence nearby, and she can tell, simply from his tone that his blood has gone hot with the same plans for later, despite neither of them speaking a word. “Move along there, Love, or we’ll never get on to your special tea,” he jibes her.

Once Killian has settled himself by the light and picked up the book to continue from where he and the kids had left off, he says jovially, “What say you two lubbers? Can you tell Mama where we left off?”

“Aye! Aye!” Morgan and Westley chorus exuberantly, bouncing on their seats.

“The Lost Boys just shot down a Wendy-bird!” Westley chirps, puffing out his chest with pride at knowing the answer and having followed the story, “but it was really Wendy the girl!”

“Right,” Morgan affirms, giving her brother a patient smile, but also adding with a hopeful look at her papa, as if wanting him to see her three years’ older wisdom, “but it was really Tinkerbell’s fault. She didn’t like Peter paying all that attention to Wendy. She told the boys there was a Wendy-bird and Peter wanted them to get it. But that wasn’t true. She was jealous and trying to get rid of Wendy, wasn’t she?”

Killian nods quietly, his eyes alight at his little boy’s obvious enjoyment of the story and at his daughter’s clear understanding, not just of plot, but also of human emotion and empathy. “That’s right, my loves,” he murmurs, appeasing both young listeners as they settle down to hear more of Barrie’s classic adventure. 

It is only because she knows her pirate so well and grasps the emotion overwhelming him all too easily herself that Emma hears it choking her pirate’s words along with his amusement. Westley crawls over to sit in her lap as Killian picks up the tale once more; his melodious voice casting magic every bit as powerful as Tink’s pixie dust. Blinking away stray tears at the rightness of it all as she listens, her son’s hair tickling her chin, Emma marvels again at the uncommon fairy tale ending she has stumbled into, not sure how she managed to get here, but grateful all the same.


End file.
